


ten days of perfect tunes, the colours red and blue (we had a promise made, we were in love)

by everythings_fine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), SwanQueen - Fandom
Genre: AU Fic, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Strangers to Lovers, athletic emma, musician regina, sort of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythings_fine/pseuds/everythings_fine
Summary: Regina is a cellist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Emma is the caption of the Chicago North Shore women’s ruby team. They meet by chance but soon find that fate is actually kind of complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is something I've had stuck in my head for the last few days. I've done a little research where sports are concerned, and a little for the music parts. The rest of the chapters will be longer than this. I just wanted to get this intro out and see if there was enough interest to keep going.

When Mulan says that she is going to bring a friend to the next match, Emma can’t help but roll her eyes and grudgingly nod along. She tries not to think of the last three that Mulan has tried to set her up with, all of which resulted in terrible first dates. Emma does her best not to act ungrateful for Mulan’s help, though she’s really rather tired of it all. Frankly, Emma isn’t sure what was worse: that Mulan keeps trying, or that they’ve been friends for so long and Mulan still doesn’t know Emma’s type. Then again, Emma doesn’t exactly know it either. She just knows it wasn’t the others.

 

Mulan takes each break in practice as the chance to describe her friend to Emma. Desperately guzzling water and wiping beads of sweat, Emma only hears every other word, her attention on their scrimmage. Mulan says about music, she thinks? When their practice comes to an end, Emma resumes her role as captain and jogs into the center of the field, gathers the rest of the team around.

 

After four hours running in 80-degree heat, Emma sees the exhaustion on her players faces, the pinkness in their cheeks, the way they drag their feet through the grass with their arms dangling lifelessly at their sides. She waits until all 12 of the teammates are circled around her, holds a hand over her eyes to get a better look at the women before her.

 

“Good job today, everyone,” Emma starts. “I know I ran you harder than usual, and  I appreciate the effort you put in.” A few breathless grunts ripple through the small crowd, but Emma ignores them. “Remember, qualifiers are next week. We pass the first level and we’re in the next round to the Championships. Last year was awesome, even though we didn’t win. Maybe we can change that this time.” With that, she dismisses the team, and all but Mulan disperse.

 

“You need a ride home?” Mulan asks, pulling her black hair out of the tight ponytail she’d kept it in all day. 

 

Emma shakes her head, her hands on her hips. “I’m good.”

 

“You sure? It’s supposed to rain later.”

 

Looking up at the cloudless sky, Emma shrugs. “I think I’ll be fine. Really. You go ahead. I’ll see you later.” 

 

Using the hem of her shirt, Mulan dabs at the sweat dripping down her cheek, nods and leaves Emma to clear the field. 

 

One by one, Emma snatches up the cones she set up for their drills, tosses the balls into the carrier net, all of which she’d paid for with her own money. Some of the players had paid their dues a bit late, and though Emma had promised them it was not a problem, she knew their budget was dwindling. Winning the Championship means more than just a title, but a boost in funds as well. 

 

When everything is packed up, Emma gathers her own belongings, slings the net over her shoulder, and starts towards the edge of the park. Another team quickly assembles where hers had previously been, one with considerably more players. And nicer uniforms.

 

A block and a half later, after surviving a dog walker and his four dogs trying to chew through the net, Emma begins to regret passing up Mulan’s offer for a ride. Her back is sore and her arms are tired. A few gray clouds are spread out across the sky, and a light breeze passes through every now and then. Emma comes to the bottom of a hill, she halts in the middle of the sidewalk and stares at the incline momentarily. It isn’t very steep and it’s only one block. But to Emma, it’s the most daunting task imaginable. 

 

So, Emma does something she’s only done a handful of times in the 10 years she’s lived in Chicago. She calls for a taxi.

 

Stepping off the curb, she shoots one arm out in the street in the hopes that a yellow cab will see her. She resists the urge to flip off each driver as they pass her with an empty backseat, settles for cursing them under her breath. Emma’s never been particularly patient.

 

Finally, a car pulls to a stop in front of Emma, a four-door SUV she briefly thinks the team could use. The engine grumbles as she opens the passenger door and starts to throw her bags inside, only to find that the door on the opposite side is open as well.

 

“Sorry, this one’s taken,” Emma says somewhat roughly.

 

“Please,” a woman replies frantically. “It’s an emergency. I’m running late.”

 

Emma sighs and looks up, fully prepared to fight for this car. But, as her gaze lands on her competitor, she finds she’s suddenly unable to speak. 

 

Beautiful, brunette hair tied in an elaborate bun. Striking red lips pressed in a worried line. The woman’s slim form is wrapped in an elegant gown, her arms full with a large case.

 

Emma, in her grass-stained gear and tattered cleats, stares into the woman’s brown eyes. “Go ahead,” she manages to let out. “I’ll… get the next one.”

 

“Thank you!” The woman breaths, her voice husky yet smooth, giving Emma goosebumps.

 

Stepping back onto the cement, Emma closes the door and watches the car drive away, doesn’t care that she’s standing in the middle of the street or that a line of traffic builds behind her. 

 

It starts to rain as she waits for another cab, cold drops soaking into her shirt, drenching her hair. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, she hardly notices it. Keeps thinking about the woman in the taxi, the way her voice made Emma’s heart race. The worried look in the woman’s eyes, the case she’d been carrying. She’s all Emma thinks about until she gets home.

 

Only when she walks through the door of her apartment does she realize she left the bags in the cab— the cab with the mystery woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina's concert. Emma's bags. A brief meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapters from here on out will blend the perspectives of Emma and Regina, like the last part of this one does!

Emma does her best not to panic. So she forgot the team’s practice gear? And her own bag? Her bag. With her jeans. And her wallet. But she still has her—

 

“Shit.” The blonde pats the pockets of her mesh shorts, realizes she’s also missing her cellphone. She tries to remember the last place she had it, the last text she sent. _It was to Mulan_ , she thinks. Telling her friend she was on the way to the park. Before shoving her phone into her duffle bag. With everything else. 

 

Her teeth chattering from the rain, Emma changes out of her wet clothes and into sweats, grabs her hefty laptop from her room and sends a message to Mulan. 

 

_Lost my phone in a cab,_ Emma writes. She debates whether to include the fact that her wallet is also gone, decides she doesn’t have enough energy for Mulan’s teasing. Emma leaves the message short, presses “send” and tosses her computer on top of her bed. 

 

In-between thoughts of identity theft, Emma’s mind wanders back to the woman in the taxi. She’d been dressed as if she were going to a ball, her gown a deep violet and three quart length sleeves. The case she’d held onto so fervently, Emma thinks, contained some sort of instrument. Guitar, maybe? No, it was too big.

 

As Emma begins to wonder what the chances are of ever meeting the woman again, her eyes close and her breathing slows until she’s left snoring. 

* * *

Regina Mills is nothing if not passionate. About her art, about her career, about her family. After years of an overbearing mother telling her that appearances were everything, Regina has come to a place in her life where she’s learned otherwise. Appearances are _not_ everything. In fact, they’re hardly a fraction of the truth. That is, of course, unless she has a concert. In that case, appearances are… well, rather important.

 

She picks out her wardrobe a week in advance, decides how she is going to wear her hair, what color lipstick would best compliment her outfit. Rehearses twice a day for three hours, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She makes all of the necessary arrangements for her one night, an evening that comes around only twice a month.

 

Her mother hasn’t been to any of her concerts, and Regina knows this one won’t be any different.Nearly three years in the Orchestra and not once has she shown up. It doesn’t matter that Cora only lives an hour away, or that Regina is able to reserve tickets. And yet, even after all this time, Regina finds herself hoping that when she looks out into the audience, Cora will be there, clapping for her, proud of her daughter.

 

She has two weeks to learn each piece—far quicker than some would think possible— and by the night of the concert,. She knows every note by heart, every pause and every key change. Learns the nuances of each note, the secrets they tell. Most of her fellow musicians have their sheet music in front of them, just to be safe. But Regina has never needed it outside of rehearsal, a feat others find rather reckless.

 

When the second concert of the month arrives, Regina reviews the schedule she’s laid out. Her instrument packed safely by the door, Bach’s Cello Suit No. 1 plays through her apartment as she prepares to leave. The weather calls for slight showers later in the day, but she knows she’ll be at the concert house by then.

 

Everything is planned for. Except one small thing.

 

At 4:13, 17 minutes before Regina is meant to leave, her phone rings. No caller ID, but a location.

 

“Hello?” Regina answers tentatively.

 

“Regina,” a firm voice greets.

 

Sitting down on her rehearsal chair, Regina clears her throat. “Mother,” she says back.

 

“Zelena informed me that you have a show tonight.”

 

Clenching her jaw, Regina replies, “I have a concert, yes.”

 

“Right, well, I thought I’d call and…” Cora trails off quietly, as if she isn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. “Have a good night,” she finally says, completely overlooking Regina’s accomplishment. 

 

“Thank you,” is all Regina can say. She hears a click on the other end, followed by the dial tone. She can’t recall the last time they’d spoken on the phone. They send the other letter in the mail, sometimes even through Facebook. Overall, though, they’re communication is rather limited. Undoubtedly, Regina believes, due to the choices she’s made in her life.

 

It’s 4:35 when Regina wakes up from her daydream. Five minutes pat her scheduled departure. In a rush of panic, Regina runs through her apartment, makes sure everything and everyone is set for the evening, dashes through the door, and hails a cab.

 

She’s thankful she doesn’t have to wait long for one to pull up. Startles when she opens the door and sees a blonde woman packing her bags. In a split second, Regina steals a glance at the time on the dashboard, 4:42.

 

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t beg a stranger. But this is an emergency. She tells the woman as much. 

 

When the blonde relents and steps away, Regina offers a quick “thanks” before lifting her cello into the car, sitting beside it, and closing the door. The car drives off before she can finish giving the address.

 

They’re at a stop light when Regina sees the bags. Technically, she smells them first, the faint musk of grass and sweat. She briefly considers telling the driver, but knows they will most likely end up in a lost found— forever lost and never found.

 

So, Regina walks through the doors with her cello and two extra bags. By some miracle, she arrives with time to spare. Guests have only just begun to find their seats. The rest of the orchestra is backstage, some polishing their instruments, others humming their parts to themselves.

 

When Regina peeks through the curtains, she scans the crowd until she spots red curls. Four rows from center of the stage, her sister Zelena waits with her wife; Regina’s number one fans. Well, two out of three of them.

 

It isn’t long before the lights flicker a warning as guests continue to file in. And soon, the auditorium grows dark and the audience grows silent.

 

The conductor is the first to appear on stage, welcomed by a raucous applause. As soon as Regina takes her seat with the rest of of the string section, she feels an electric force ripple through her body. It’s always like this. The very moment before beginning. One hand positioned high on the neck, the other cradling the bow. She takes a breath and looks up at the maestro, waits for the drop of the baton.

* * *

After the concert, after they’ve all bowed and accepted applause, Regina returns her instrument to its chamber. She smiles and nods to the rest of the section, tells them how wonderful they sounded. Says she’ll see them in a few days at rehearsal. This concert is over. Onto the next. 

 

Zelena is waiting for her with a bouquet of flowers when Regina emerges from the stage door. “Bravo, Sis,” she says sincerely. “Absolutely beautiful.” A slight grin plays at the corners of Regina’s mouth as she drags all of her belongings with her. Zelena takes notice. “Good lord, what is all that?”

 

“Long story,” Regina replies. “Where’s your better half?” 

 

“Out front with the car,” Zelena says, though she’s still staring at the bags next to Regina. “Who’s E.S.?” she asks.

 

“What?”

 

“E.S.,” Zelena repeats, pointing to the stitching on the side of the duffle bag.

 

Regina looks down and squints, only barely makes out the letters hidden behind layers of dirt. She doesn’t want to know how long it’s been since someone washed it. “Hold this,” she says, pushing her case out to Zelena. As best she can in her dress, Regina kneels down and pulls the zipper. She hesitates before rifling through the clothes, holding her breath somewhat, but soon finds what she’s looking for. “Yes!”

 

“Sis, I know you’re struggling a bit for cash, but—“

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina looks for the stranger’s driver’s license, breathes a sigh of relief when she finds it. “You two go ahead,” she says absentmindedly. “I’ll call you when I get home.” Regina looks up at Zelena and adds, “I’ve got a quick stop to make.”

Emma doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep when the doorbell rings. All she knows it that the sun was still out and now it’s not. And that she’s hungry. Like. Extremely hungry.

 

The buzzer rings again and Emma makes herself gets out of bed, her hair mussed in the back and her Rolling Stones tee-shirt wrinkled. She stumbles backwards when she turns on the hallway lights, curses at no one in particular. When the buzzer rings for a third time, Emma resists the urge to shout through the speaker and tell the person to go away.

 

Instead, she swallows her impatience and answers a calm, “Yeah?” 

 

“I’m looking for Emma Swan?” A voice says.

 

Emma freezes. She knows that voice. It’s only been a few hours since she first heard it, but she knows she could never forget it.

 

Pulling her hair into a ponytail to hide the mess, Emma presses the intercom with her elbow. “Come on up!” 

 

Tearing around her one-bedroom apartment, she throws all of the clothes she’s let pile on the floor into her room and shuts the door. Tosses the dirty dishes into the washer, even though there are clean ones still in it. Clears the trash off the counters with a single wipe of her arm, just as she hears a knock on the door. 

 

With a long exhale, Emma reaches for the handle and opens the door, does her best to act cool. 

 

“Emma?” The mystery woman asks hesitantly. Emma nods, notices the woman is still dressed up, and a black case leaning against the wall across from her. “I think I have something that belongs to you.”

 

The woman reaches down and lifts the bags, holds them out to Emma. “Shit, thank you!” Emma says before she can help herself, eyes wide, overcome with relief. “Sorry,” she amends. “I mean, thanks.”

 

“Of course,” the woman waves it off, finds the sudden swearing almost charming. “Oh, I’m Regina by the way. Regina Mills. I figure it’s only fair you know my last name as I know yours.” She offers a hand and Emma numbly accepts, is startled back to like by the warmth that she feels in her bones.

 

“Right, well, thank you Regina. I- I really appreciate this,” Emma informs, gesturing to the sack of equipment. “Would you- do you want some coffee? As a thank you?”

 

Regina shakes her head graciously, “I’ve got to get going, actually. I just wanted to make sure these got returned to their rightful owner.” As she gazes over at Emma, Regina realizes just how much she missed earlier that afternoon, the depth of the woman’s green eyes. Her blonde curls tinted with light streaks of auburn, the slight dimple in her chin. The way her eyes shine when she smiles.

 

“Oh, of course. Yeah. Totally,” Emma rambles, quietly disappointed. “Well, uh, thanks again. Seriously. You’re a life saver.”

 

Regina chuckles lightly, “I wouldn’t go that far.” A painfully award beat passes before Regina reaches for her cello and says, “Goodnight Emma.”

 

“‘Night, Regina,” Emma replies. She waits in her doorway until Regina’s footsteps no longer echo through the staircase, and she wonders if the brunette carried all of this up on her own? 

 

Closing the door behind her, Emma pulls her wallet and phone out of her bag, types up a message for Mulan, hits the send button before she chickens out.

 

_Met someone,_ Emma wrote. _Call me when u get home from the concert._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma meets Regina again. This time, there's something else. Or rather, someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with the update. I had most of this chapter written, but the second half was harder to finish than I was expecting.

The weekend arrives slowly, bringing with it sporadic winds and cloudy skies. For the most part, Emma stays inside. Except when she doesn’t. She goes for her usual jog in the morning, powers through the fierce winds that try their best to knock her down. Her headphones set snugly in her ears, the practice playlist she and Mulan created for the team propels her forward. Her sneakers beat against the pavement in perfect rhythm with her breathing. _One. Two. In. Out._

 

In total, Emma runs five miles, her typical distance when she’s training. Her mind wanders from the team and the upcoming match, to Regina and the way her voice put Emma at ease with just one word. It’s been two days since they’ve met, and though Emma is mostly preoccupied with creating game plans, she still finds time to think about Regina.

 

When she finishes with her run, Emma returns to her apartment. Is quick to jump in and out of the shower, reenergized beneath the cold water. Grabs a pair of ripped jeans and a gray sweater, lets her long hair air-dry. She checks her phone and finds that Mulan has texted her with a time and place to meet for their weekly coffee date, says she wants to hear all about this woman Emma’s met, but tells Emma she can’t stay very long.

 

Reading the time, Emma sighs as she realizes she’ll have to eat at the coffee shop, unable to stay home for much longer. She pats her pockets, double-checking that she has her phone and wallet, nods to herself in satisfaction that when she’s assured she has everything. Grabs her keys from the kitchen counter. Tosses on her red jacket. And goes back out into the late, and unpredictable, July weather.

 

It’s a 20 minute walk from her apartment, child’s play for Emma, really. Swift steps carry her through the city, and with every corner she turns, she’s reminded of why she fell in love with Chicago all those years ago. It’s busy, but not overwhelming. Lively, but not exhausting. Construction every few blocks as the city continues to grow and improve, a view of the ocean in her peripheral. Combined with the roaring of engines, she hears a chorus of dogs barking nearby.

 

She finds the café without needing any assistance from her phone’s GPS, a feat she’s quite proud of. Emma isn’t exactly known for her knowledge of geography. She’s gotten lost on her way home from the bus stop on more than one occasion, though if you ask her, Emma blames the lack of signs.

 

When she opens the door, she sees Mulan waving from a table by the window. Judging by the half-consumed cappuccino, and the iced tea that nog longer had any ice, Emma shakes her head as she realizes Mulan’s been waiting for a while.

 

“Tell me you haven’t been here the whole time,” the blonde half-groans as she sits across from her friend.

 

“Ok. I haven’t been here the whole time,” Mulan responds, almost robotically. A sly chuckle ripples through her body as she takes another small sip from her cup.

 

“I thought you were off caffeine,” Emma mused. “Thought it wasn’t good for the whole kid-thing.”

 

“Correction,” Mulan says, holding up a finger. “Zelena is not allowed caffeine. I was giving it up in solidarity.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma cocks a curious brow. “How’s that going for you?” she gestures to the cup.

 

Suddenly growing serious, Mulan sets her cup down and folds her hands on the table. “This is the first cup of coffee I’ve had in a month,” she says. “I _need_ this.”

 

Leaning back, Emma lets out an amused laugh, holds up her hands in surrender. “Hey, whatever gets you through the day. Speaking of which, I saw she came to the last match. Does that mean she doesn’t hate me anymore?”

 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Mulan scoffs. “She just doesn’t do outside stuff. Anyway. Talk to me. Who’s this woman?” she inclines forward just an inch, eagerly waiting for the details of the stranger that’s got Emma glowing.

 

Even without mentioning her name, Emma feels her cheeks flush and she looks away. She offers a half-shrug, trying to play it cool, to ignore the shiver that runs along her spine. She tries not to remember the breathtaking sight of Regina in that dress; tries not to think about how fast her heart beat at the sight of Regina on her doorstep. She doesn’t realize she’s smiling until Mulan lets out a soft, “Wow.”

 

Sitting up straight in her chair, Emma finally gathers the courage to describe Regina, to explain how amazing she was. She’s still smiling faintly as she parts her lips.

 

“Decaf latte with soy. And a tall milk for my date.”

 

Emma freezes and her ears perk up. It’s that voice again.

 

“Milk? Not even a juice? You’re no fun.”

 

When the second woman speaks, Emma frowns and turns her head slightly in an effort to steal a glance. But even before she sees the striking red curls, she realizes that she knows that voice as well. A wave of poorly crafted, sarcastic comments in a British accent echo through her ears.

 

“Hey!” Mulan leaps excitedly from her chair and brings her wife into her arms, kissing Zelena affectionately. Emma stands up slowly and turns around, her hands in her pockets, a nervous smile spread across her face. “You brought Regina,” Mulan notes. “Regina, this is—“

 

“Emma,” Regina breathes, the name laced with surprise. Green eyes fall to the small bundle in Regina’s arms, slightly chubby legs sticking out from a jumpsuit. Loose strands of wild brown hair cling to her shoulder, stuck together by static. The boy on Regina’s hip is asleep, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. “Emma,” Regina says her name again, as if testing the reality of the moment, “This is Henry.” She nods to the toddler. “My son.”

 

Emma pauses as those two words settle. She looks from Henry to Regina, and back to Henry. And then she looks over at Mulan, who’s eyes are wide with realization.

 

Breaking from her spot by the table, Emma steps forward and tilts her head slightly. “He’s gorgeous,” she hums, careful not to wake him. _Just like his mother,_ she adds silently.

 

“You two know each other?” Zelena asks, pointing a finger between the women.

 

“Yes.”

 

“No,” Emma and Regina say together. Emma blinks slowly; she should have said no. “We met, briefly,” Regina informs. “She’s E.S.”

 

Her brow pinched in confusion, Emma waits for an explanation. It doesn’t take her long to realize her initials were on her bag. Zelena must have been with Regina that evening. “How do you know Zelena?” Emma asks in return.

 

“She’s my sister,” Zelena replies evenly.

 

As if Emma’s brain wasn’t already overflowing with information, she suddenly finds herself attempting to understand how Zelena and Regina are sisters with different accents. _They could be adopted,_ she thinks to herself, quickly following another train of thought.

 

Mulan sees the slight glazing of Emma’s eyes and knows her friend is rapidly losing focus. It’s a habit of hers, getting distracted at the most inopportune times. “Regina,” Mulan says, somewhat suddenly. “We were just catching up. Care to join us?” Shaken out of her loose thoughts, Emma shoots a questionable glare at Mulan.

 

Henry shifts slightly in Regina’s hold and she looks down at her son, does her best to estimate how much longer his early afternoon nap will last. And then she looks at Emma. The blonde stranger she’s seen now three times in the last several days. She wonders why Mulan and Zelena had never mentioned her before—unless they had, and she just hadn’t noticed. But how could she not have? Surely, she thinks, she would remember Emma.

 

“I should probably get going,” Regina finally responds. “This little one will probably be hungry soon and it’s a bit of a walk.”

 

Without giving it much thought, Emma takes another step forward and offers, “Do you need someone to go with you? I mean— do you want company?” She’s not sure where the surge of confidence came from.

 

Regina glances at the blonde and tries to read her. She thinks herself a rather good judge of character, thinks she can tell a lot just by looking at a person. But Emma is different. She sensed it the other night. Emma’s harder to read than most. Her eyes show a kindness Regina has only encountered a handful of times in the past, but when she speaks… there’s more to her words than she reveals.

 

In the end, Regina’s curiosity wins. “I suppose that would be alright.”

* * *

Regina’s drink in one hand and Henry’s milk carton in the other, Emma walks beside the brunette and keeps a steady pace. They haven’t spoken much since leaving the café, other than Regina announcing when they need to turn and which street to cross.

 

When the wind blows, Emma watches as Regina shields Henry with her arm, as Regina’s hair dances gracefully with the breeze. Henry opens his eyes and looks over at Emma, but falls back asleep in seconds.

 

“How long have you known Mulan?” Regina asks when they’ve made it halfway to her house.

 

“A few years,” Emma says. “We met when she joined the team.”

 

“Ah, right. You play together,” Regina says, as if everything about Emma makes sense, when really, she’s still as difficult to understand as before. “Is she any good?”

 

Emma chuckles, and when she does, Regina struggles to suppress a smile. “Let’s just say, when I step down as captain, she would be my first pick to replace me.” When she feels Regina looking at her, Emma explains, “Mulan’s way better with the team than I am. She knows their strengths and weaknesses, what motivates them.”

 

“And you don’t?”

 

Emma shrugs and lets out a sigh. “I’ve never really been leader material. Telling people what to do… it’s just not my thing.”

 

“I didn’t realize that’s how leadership worked,” Regina muses.

 

As they turn another corner, ducking beneath the shade of an apartment complex, Emma asks, “How old is he?”

 

“He’ll be two in December,” Regina says as she runs a hand through his bangs. “He’s been with me since his last birthday.”

 

“Oh,” Emma says. “So… is it just the two of you?” She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. That’s… that’s none of my business.”

 

“No, no, it’s alright,” Regina dismisses. “I mean, it’s not really anyone’s business, but I’m sure people must wonder.” Switching Henry from one hip to the other, Regina takes a deep breath. “I’d been trying to adopt for a about two years, had a nursery already made up before he came along. Single parents, even now, aren’t exactly seen as ideal households. But, here we are,” she kisses the top of Henry’s head. “It’s been a big adjustment, but it’s also been great.” She smiles down at the boy. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

 

Emma doesn’t realize that she’s been staring until Regina looks back at her with a confused expression. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just—I was adopted too,” she reveals in a soft tone. Before she can share much more, before Regina can say anything, Emma switches the subject. “So the other night,” she begins, “were you out to meet the Queen or…?”

 

“Something like that,” Regina says playfully, thinking back to her frantic disposition and mismatching evening gown. “I’m a musician.”

 

“Right,” Emma says, feeling stupid. She’d seen the case Regina had with her. “Must be some band. You looked…”

 

They both wait for Emma to finish her statement, but it never comes. Regina wonders if Emma even meant to start it. She has a feeling Emma’s thoughts don’t often align with what actually comes out of her mouth.

 

They continue in silence for a few more blocks; Emma afraid to say something stupid again, and Regina unable to decide what she wanted to know most.

 

When they arrive at Regina’s doorstep, the brunette is so consumed by her interest in Emma, she almost passes it.

 

“This is us,” Regina exhales.

 

Emma turns and tries not to suck in a breath at the gorgeous brownstone she’s just walked up to. Mulan mentioned that Zelena came from a wealthy family, but only now was Emma truly able to understand just how wealthy they must have been.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Emma says.

 

“Thank you.” Regina reaches in her bag for her keys, having become rather talented at completing tasks with only one arm. “Thank you for walking with us,” she says when she’s found the metal ring. “I… I really enjoyed your company.”

 

“Anytime,” Emma tells her. She waits until Regina’s opened the door before passing along the drinks, neither of which seem to interest Regina anymore.

 

“I’d invite you in, but…” Regina gestures to her son.

 

“No, of course. I understand.” Emma points a thumb over her shoulder. “I gotta head back anyway.”

 

A beat passes between them before Regina offers to pay for a taxi. “Really, I’m sure this was way out of your normal journey.”

 

But Emma refuses. She tells Regina it was her pleasure, offers Henry a small smile even though he cannot see her, tells Regina maybe they’ll see each other again sometime, and waves as she skips down the steps to the sidewalk. When the door closes behind her, Emma fights the urge to look back and instead, breaks into a jog. Pent up excitement finally breaks through and as she runs through the city, Emma can’t help but smile.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina ponders her few encounters with Emma Swan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I've been struggling a lot with writing lately, even just having the motivation has been difficult. I don't know when the next update will be, but I can promise that there WILL be one!

The longest relationship that Regina’s ever had lasted two years. An infatuation she felt that she’d convinced herself could eventually become more. It never did. In 21 months with Daniel, she never felt anything more than a platonic fondness. They’d met in music theory, during her second semester at Julliard. He dropped out of school at the end of the year, and though Regina supported his desire to explore, she stayed steadfast in her studies. 

 

Regina knew it’d been over long before they called it quits. Her passion was music. His was Regina.

 

By the time Henry came into her life, Regina had come to the conclusion that she needed nothing more than their little family. She’d gone so far beyond her mother’s wishes, had created an existence only Regina needed to be happy with.

 

She hasn’t thought about dating much in the last year. Henry has consumed so much of her time and focus, not to mention her music. At 30 years-old, Regina has found peace with her son and her passion. Until Emma showed up last week.

 

Green eyes with a perpetual expression of shock, tousled blonde hair that looks as though it hasn’t seen a brush in ages. Dimpled chin and rosy cheeks, a smile that makes Regina want to know all about her.

 

It’s ridiculous, though. This is the least convenient time to develop a crush on someone—if she could even call it that. Nothing could ever come out of it, Regina and Emma. Not with all of her days spent caring for Henry, and most of her evenings rehearsing. It would never work out. That’s what Regina tells herself at least.

 

When Emma walks her home from the café, Regina feels her heart skip a beat, a flutter in her stomach as Emma offers a smile. And when Emma talks, Regina is tempted to take them on a longer route, just to hear more.

 

That night, Regina cooks dinner for Henry: mashed potatoes and peas, and if he’s good, orange juice for dessert. He’s just beginning to feed himself with a spoon without making too much of a mess, or getting any remnants in his hair. She watches as he lifts his sippy-cup to his lips with both hands, small fingers wrapped around the handles, and laughs as he slurps loudly. Eventually, she’ll teach him better manners. For now, though, it’s rather cute.

 

Henry falls asleep a few hours later, his head against Regina’s chest as she rocks him to _Clair De Lune,_ the only thing that seems to work nowadays. She lays him in his crib slowly, brushes his bangs out of his eyes, and turns off his light. “Goodnight, my little prince,” she hums. Just as she does every night.

 

Closing his door behind her, Regina stands still for a moment, waits in case she hears him stirring. Once in a while, he’ll wake up and need to be rocked back to sleep. But lately, Henry’s ability to sleep through the night is something Regina is eternally grateful for.

 

As she creeps to her own room, just two doors down the hall, Regina takes out her cellphone and closes her hand around the device. She debates whether or not to call Zelena. Perhaps even Mulan? Between the two of them, Mulan certainly knows Emma better, they’ve been on the team together for a while now. And then it hits Regina.

 

Mulan had invited Regina to their next match. She didn’t say why, only that she would love it Regina could come. It makes sense now, though. Mulan was going to set her up with Emma.

 

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Regina shakes her head to herself. She’s being silly, she thinks. Zelena is the matchmaker in the family. Mulan wouldn’t do something like that… would she?

 

Regina goes over it several times as she dresses for the evening. She brushes her teeth and pauses every now and then as she considers the pros and cons of actually going to such an event. She couldn’t recall the last “sports game” she’d attended, thinks it must have been back in high school.

 

When all of the lights in her room have been turned off, Regina slips beneath the covers of her bed, and lays on her back. She stares at the ceiling, biting down on her bottom lip. And before she can convince herself otherwise, Regina plucks her phone from her nightstand and sends Zelena a text: _Have Mulan send me the info on her game next week._

 

* * *

 

 

The game is on a Monday and Regina finds herself growing rather anxious as the hours slip by. She spends the morning with Henry, combines her practice time with his playtime as he sits on the floor and tosses his blocks around. She’s only able to make it through two pieces before she gives in and gathers their things for a day in the park. It just so happens to be the same park the match is in.

 

Regina convinces herself the fresh air will be good for the both of them. As content as she is with a day at home, she’s also known to become restless on occasion. It’s a beautiful day in the city, the sun is shining, but there’s enough breeze that she’s sure Henry won’t overheat. She brings sunscreen just to be safe, as well as a few extra juice boxes.

 

It isn’t long after they arrive that Henry gestures to the red sandbox, his arms outstretched as if pulling it towards him. Regina waits before lifting him from the stroller, surveys the families around her, notes which child belongs to which adult. When he finally wriggles free and teeters towards the play area, Regina watches with her arms folded casually across her chest. Henry’s already made a friend. A little girl with bronze curls and denim overalls.

 

Regina rocks on her heels anxiously, squints as the sun rises over the trees. She’s about to grab for more sunscreen when she spots golden curls flying down the trail. A woman in a red and white jersey comes into focus and Regina recognizes her instantly.

 

She isn’t sure whether to hide or make herself more visible. She attempts to shrink beneath the shade, crouches slightly by the sandbox, but it’s too late. She locks eyes with Emma and offers a friendly smile.

 

“Regina, hi,” Emma pants as she slows to a stop, her headphones falling over her shoulders. She smiles brightly and her pink cheeks glisten slightly under the sunlight.

 

“Emma,” Regina greets as she stands upright, glancing over at Henry quickly. He’s playing alone now, but still just as content. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She catches herself and adds, “So early, I mean. I didn’t think you’d be here this early. Mulan said something about a game today.” Emma nods with a friendly smirk. “And I thought Henry might enjoy some time in the park today.”

 

Emma looks down at the toddler, kneels, and taps his knee, flashing him a grin. “You havin’ fun, Kid?” Henry peers up at Emma with wonder. He’s quiet, his tiny brow furrowed as though he’s examining Emma. Deciding whether or not she’s friendly. But then Henry smiles at her and offers her his shovel. “I guess that’s a yes,” she chuckles, accepting the piece of blue plastic.

 

Regina watches as Emma sits beside her son, cross-legged, and begins playing in the sand—all without missing a beat. “So,” she says, trying to sound aloof, “what _are_ you doing here so early?” she asks as she takes a seat beside them. “Pre-game workout?” Regina cringes slightly at her attempt to act as though she knows anything about athletics.

 

“Sort of,” Emma shrugs. “Helps with the nerves.”

 

“Really?” Regina wonders, unable to maske her own shock. Emma doesn’t strike her as the type to get nervous. Then again, Emma’s still a mystery to Regina.

 

“Mhm. I mean, I know it sounds stupid. I’ve only been playing for 10 years,” the blonde says with a half-hearted laugh. “But I dunno. I still get this weird feeling before games. Like… like I’m gonna do something to mess it up.”

 

Regina can sense Emma’s shared more than she meant to. She sees a slight pause in the woman’s movements, the way Emma swallows when she stops talking; how Emma won’t look at her.

 

So, Regina does something she doesn’t normally do; she shares something about herself in return. “My mother has never come to any of my concerts,” she confesses softly, surprised at her own willingness to be so vulnerable. “I spend an entire day cooking before each performance. I don’t even eat it all. I usually send it off to Zelena’s.” Regina looks over at Henry fondly, drinks in the image of he and Emma building a castle together. “The other day, in the taxi, my mother called while I was getting ready to leave. It completely threw me off. I’ve never been late to a single show, let alone a rehearsal until then.”

 

Emma finally looks up at Regina. She catches the way Regina’s voice softens when she talks about her mother, it’s not the same softness as when she talks about Henry; it’s sad, wistful, tinged with regret. Emma feels almost as if she’s intruding, getting to hear all this. They barely know each other, and suddenly, they’re sharing some of their most intimate secrets. She can’t remember the last time anyone has shared anything so personal with her—nor sharing with someone else.

 

“I’d love to hear you play sometime.” Emma doesn’t realize she’s said that out loud until she sees the corners of Regina’s mouth twitch slightly.

 

“You like classical?” Regina asks dubiously, an eyebrow raised.

 

_Emma shrugs as she smoothest the sides of the sandcastle. Henry opens and closes his fist to indicate that he wants to try and she can’t help but laugh at his determined pucker. With a playful smirk, Emma can’t help but reply, “You like sports?”_

 

* * *

 

 

The game lasts nearly an hour. Thankfully, they don’t go into overtime. Regina isn’t sure how much more shouting she could manage. Every time the team makes a goal—and every time they don’t— the bleachers rumble. Henry falls asleep with 10 minutes left of the match, Northshore leading 2-1. Emma makes one of the goals, and when the ball flies through the net, even Regina finds herself clapping with the crowd. Mulan scores the second and Regina cheers again, though admittedly, it’s in part to the game nearly being finished.

 

Time runs out Northshore wins the match. When the whistle blows, Emma and Mulan leap in the air, their team cheering excitedly. They’re covered in dirt and Emma’s left arm is scraped from a close-save. The players shake hands politely and when it’s just Emma’s crew, they huddle together for a post-game speech. Regina hears the captain say something about “finals” and “championship.” She makes a note to ask Zelena later.

 

It’s dark by the time everyone ambles away from the field, nearly Henry’s bedtime. Regina waits with her sister though while Mulan says goodbye to the other players, quietly hopes Emma will come up with her.

 

“Congratulations,” Regina muses with a nod. She can feel her shirt growing damp from Henry drooling on her shoulder.

 

“Thanks,” Emma replies with a heavy sigh. She wipes away beads of sweat from her forehead, smearing more mud across her face.

 

Regina struggles to hide her amusement. It’s slightly charming, she thinks, in a rather unsanitary manner. “So,” she prompts, shrugging her bag over her shoulder. “Thursday? Eight o’clock? Doors open at seven.”

 

_Emma’s confused features slowly smooth into understanding as she offers Regina a dutiful nod. “I’ll be there.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Comments are appreciated!


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